ArchivedLogs:It Will Be Scorching

It Will Be Scorching
Dramatis Personae Dante, Logan, Rahne, Roger
In Absentia	2013-03-24 Fire at Zabar's.
Location <NYC> Zabar's - Upper West Side
<NYC> Zabar's - Upper West Side Zabar's is where those in the know go to get their bagels and lox. Arguably the most famous (and best) Deli in Manhattan and continually operated by the Zabar family since 1934, Zabar's is now one of the largest supermarkets in New York City, jam packed with great food at good prices. Zabar's Deli is in a frequently traversed locale of New York on the Upper West Side, known for it's amazing bagels and as a general establishment that has been a staple of the city for decades. There is history here, and there's nothing not to love about a fresh, toasted sesame seed bagel with cream cheese slathered on it. Less well known: it's more recent No Mutants Allowed policy, the business owners having decided they do not need the business of mutie freaks. People mill in and out of the shop with paper bags full of their favorite baked goods and coffee cups in their hands steaming piping hot. It's a nice day. A real nice day. Until around 10:24 AM. A young man wearing nothing but a white wife-beater and some stomping boots is carrying a large black contractor trash bag over his shoulder, and drops it on the street corner purposefully. There's the sound of parts and stuff clunking when it hits the pavement. He reaches in, and produces a hand-held megaphone, which he hoists to his lips. "RECENTLY THE SUBJUGATION OF THE MUTANT RACE HAS BEEN DESCRIBED AS AN ARMS RACE IN THE HUFFINGTON POST." There is a Texan twang in the voice of the person screaming into the microphone, his face pinched in righteous, bitter anger, preaching to anyone on the street who was there to listen. He has reached into his bag and produced a large red gas can, which he has begun to drizzle the exterior of the building liberally with a viscous liquid, presumably gasoline. "THERE IT WAS THE OPINION OF THE AUTHOR THAT WE DO NOT NEED ANOTHER COLD WAR." "I AGREE. THE WAR THAT WILL BE WAGED AGAINST HOMO INFERIOR TO DETERMINE THE RULING SPECIES OF THE EARTH WILL NOT BE COLD." He starts to produce large vodka bottles with soaked rags in them, lining them up next to his foot. Some people are starting to panic in the street. "IT WILL BE SCORCHING." "...If he wants the bike back, he can come back to the mansion and tell me himself--" "Yeah, well - waste not, want not." Logan is grumpy - what a surprise! - and today he finds himself seated atop a veeeeery nice motorcycle parked on the side of the street near a certain diner. The cellphone on which he had just been speaking get tucked away inside his leather jacket, and from another pocket he fishes out a cigar. "Damn shame," he mutters to himself while lighting up. "Too good a bike to leave rotting in a gar--what?" The scent of gasoline has his attention before the man with the megaphone even speaks and Logan immediately looks his way. "Aww, ya gotta be kiddin' me..." What on earth is Rahne doing out in the city, roaming around? Maybe she's decided to creep out a little and explore. You know, by herself. That could be a thing. More likely, though, the dress that's mostly hidden under her heavy coat and knit cap suggest a visit to church. There has to be a Scottish Presbyterian church in the city somewhere, after all, and being able to sit down and have a few quiet words with God in His house can do wonders for that niggling homesickness, right? Even if her history with the church has been, well, a wee bit mixed. The yelling via megaphone draws her attention, though, as she rounds a street corner to stop and kind of stare at the goings-on. What is that man doing? "THIS ESTABLISHMENT HAS MADE IT POLICY TO REFUSE TO SERVE MUTANTS. THEY WOULD PREFER TO SEE MUTANTS STARVED OUT OF THEIR OWN NEIGHBORHOODS THAN TO HAND THEM A PIECE OF BAKED BREAD FOR MONEY. LIKE MANY OTHERS, THEY REFUSE TO SEE THE RISE OF THE NEW DAWN OF MANKIND. LIKE MANY OTHERS, THEY WILL HAVE NO CHOICE BUT TO ACKNOWLEDGE THAT THE WORLD TURNS WITHOUT THEM." The rags are lit, the door kicked open and gas sloshed inside as people start to panic and head out the back door. The unidentified man finally takes his lighter out while standing smack dab in the middle of the sloshing gasoline in the building threshold. He starts to violently toss the molotov cocktails through the window after bashing it in, and the place erupts in flames, with him smack dab in the middle of it, still clutching his megaphone - whose plastic is now starting to melt and message is starting to distort as the mutant yells into it amidst all the fire around him and on him, his clothes starting to catch. "THIS IS WHAT HAPPENS. THIS IS WHAT HAPPENS." "YOUR BAKERIES, YOUR LAW OFFICES, YOUR FUCKING LIBRARIES AND YOUR STARBUCKS! YOUR GOD DAMNED SCHOOLS WHERE YOUR CHILDREN GO, YOUR HOME IMRPROVEMENT OUTLETS, YOUR THRIFT STORES..." The guy chants into the melting microphone incessantly. Logan already has his jacket off and bounds across the street toward the diner. He opens his mouth to speak, but the only thing that comes out is an animalistic howl - and then he's diving INTO the flames through the broken window. "Bad choice, Bub," he growls accompanied by the sound of six claws ripping through skin. The Wolverine's clothes are already burning as he rolls to his feet, his face grimacing in pain and anger. Then he launches himself at the guy with the megaphone - one claw slashing at the melting megaphone, and the other aiming for the man's leg. Of course, the sensible thing to do in this kind of situation--crazy man hurling accusations and molotov cocktails, totally happens all the time--is to turn tail and run, especially if you're just a wee slip of a thing of a teenaged girl in a city you're still not terribly familiar with. And Rahne almost does this, starts to turn to follow the other very sensible-minded people, until she catches a glimpse of... wait, is that Logan? From the school? "Ach, nae," she breathes out to herself, a hand coming up to cover her mouth, hovering there a moment. Flames, danger and all, though, she feels compelled to help. Um. In some fashion. She'll figure that out along the way. Anyway, she heads for the store now on fire. Like an idiot. "God, I miss this...Who'd have thought four days would go by so...slowly!" The masked man speaks to himself as he jumps from roof to roof, catching onto the fire escape with one hand, and swinging his body to the steel grating. He plants his feet, and grunts slightly, clutching his side after landing onto the fire escape. "Best parkour session of your life, though, even despite getting them stitches out a few hours ago..." He seems to enjoy talking to himself, until he hears what seems to be a man yelling into a megaphone...nothing to worry about, probably just some protes...The fire escape rocks back and forth from the explosion, which couldn't have been more than a block away...Dante whips around, catching the light of the explosion in his peripheral. "Sonofabitch...today was just supposed to be parkour training!" He climbs down the edge of the fire escape, dropping one ledge at a time until he reaches ground level, then takes off in a sprint towards the burning building. He arrives across the street a few moments later, just soon enough to see a figure charge its way into the building...Who in the hell would be stupid enough to...the he sees it; leather jacket on the ground, next to a motorcycle...Dante rolls his eyes, visible to nobody underneath his snowboarders mask "Of course...Logan..." he mutters under his breath. Wolverine's claws slice through the megeaphone in the terrorist's startled hands like they were butter as the man starts to backpedal. The pieces fall out of his hand and clatter towards the ground, one more piece of debris now going up in flames around the two men. That's all to be expected. His other wild slice lands on the guy's leg, which is probably an interesting sight to see and an interesting sensation for Logan personally. The claws effortlessly bite into his jeans' calf (which is already starting to catch fire in places) and slice it open ragged, but all Logan manages to do to the guy's leg is sweep it underneath the body and trip him up clumsily, dropping him into the burning gasoline puddle. The flames bubble up onto his skin but he doesn't seem to be affected in the slightest - he scrabbles to get up, some of the gasoline resting on his arms already ignited and burning as it drips off of his skin. Smoke is starting to build everywhere. "Fuck," the guy swears as gets to his feet and starts to run backwards facing Logan, clearly trying to turn and get some running speed as he emerges out of the other side of the inferno, trailing flames everywhere. "Fuck, what're you made of?" Logan barks at the arsonist, his teeth drawn back in a snarl. The pain and heat only seem to fuel his rage - so he charges the man a second time, claws bared. That's when he catches a sound from the back of the diner - or it least it seems to be coming from there. "Ya got people back there!" he shouts despite burning lungs and puts as much force as he can manage into a leap that could either knock the arsonist back through a wall - or himself! Or both. "GET 'EM OUT!" he bellows one last time. "The hell?" Dante mutters to himself. "Jesus, more 'special people' cropping up every day in this damn city..." He watches as a man on fire makes his way to the back, pursued closely by Logan. As Dante makes his way towards the building, he shakes his head to himself. "Alright, start thinking how you can explain away 1st degree burns as an accident to the docs..." he mutters, yet is inturrupted by Logan's bellowing voice...Get 'em out? Get who...His eyes widen as he makes the connection. No way these two were the only ones in the building. Dante sprints to the side of the smoking building, throwing his hand in front of his face just in time for the last of the windows to blow up in his face from the heat. He can hear the people in the back, coughing, trying to scream. "Stay calm! Keep your heads low!" Dante calls out to those trapped inside as he makes his way closer to the burning building... That is really a lot of fire. Squinting against it, feeling the heat of it on her cheeks, Rahne peers into the place and does not flee for the hills, no doubt against better judgment. On hearing Logan's bellow over the crackle and roar, a faint, keening sound escapes her, feet in modest dress shoes shuffling in indecision. She flinches and backpedals a couple of steps when that last window blows out. But she still doesn't flee. "Lord protect me," she mutters instead, one hand clutching the small gold cross that hangs from a chain around her neck. And then she darts inside. This may have been a mistake. Honestly, a big mistake. But she is quick and nimble and maybe there are people that need help and oh God, what is she doing, this is like trying to run through Hellfire, the heat licking and teasing and tugging and the smoke trying to blind and choke. But she will find... somebody. To help out. By God. A child is shrieking as Dante darts in, her mother clutching her and coughing smoke blearily. She starts to lumber in aimless and smoke-blind confusion towards Dante's calls, begging for his help. Meanwhile, Rahne busting in the other side has found her with an older gentleman and his thirty something son. The man is passed out on the floor, and the man looks up to Rahne with childish fear in his eyes. "He's not breathing! He's not breathing, oh my god..." Meanwhile, the arsonist, whose flames are being stomped out by Logan's hurtling tackle and subsequently jump of both of them, grapples with him as they both go through the wall with a grunt, the man flailing to the floor amidst mortar and backer-board and pipe fittings in front of Wolverine. Discouragingly, he gets up almost immediately, without so much as a scratch on his now-sooty skin (though his clothes are practically rags and hanging off him now). "Just walk away," the terrorist says in that Texan drawl, his lip curling in surpressed anger. "You're a mutant - I'm doing this for you. There's no beef here if you just walk the hell away." Meanwhile, sirens can be heard in the distance. Logan coughs at a mouthful of mortar and dust as he goes tumbling out of the diner and into another building - a Salvation Army clothing depot from the looks of it - with the terrorist only a few feet away. The Wolverine's clothing - what's left of it - is in smouldering rags, and the burns across his body that are visible are already healing. He brings his knees up to his chest and flips onto his feet, balancing himself with his fingertips splayed on the floor. He looks at the arsonist with baleful eyes and bares his teeth. "Like hell," he growls - then he's swinging punches at the man like a fury. "Since ya like flames so much - Bub - yer gonna LOVE it where I'll send ya!" Never mind the shoppers in the store watching a half-naked man fight a... half-naked terrorist. Dante crouches as low as he can under the billowing smoke, practically duck-walking towards the closest people; his vision just as impaired as the mother's...but he can hear their cries. "Follow my voice, I'm here to help you!" he calls out. He drops onto his knees for a moment, clasping his hands together and focusing his energies...As he releases his hands, throwing them up into the air, a small sphere of blue light emanates from his palms, clearing a small area around him of the thick smoke. The concussive force of the blast pushes a chair next to him backwards a few feet, further clearing the path between him and the duo. Just outside of the blast's radius, Dante catches the glimpse of the mother and child; their eyes filled with tears from smoke and terror. He hops back into his duck walk, keeping his head low as he makes his way to them. "You're going to be alright, hang in there. Crawl to your left!" he bellows out to them. "OhGodohGodohGodohGod," might not be the most eloquent litany ever, but then most litanies probably weren't coined in burning delis, either. "OhGodohGodohGod," goes Rahne until she stumbles across the two men. What. Truth be told, she hadn't exactly planned ahead for what she would do when she actually found somebody, so focused was she on the finding part. Had she counted on people being mobile? Well, maybe. This, though, is something else entirely. After a moment of hard, panicked thinking, she offers the oh so helpful line of, "Keep the heid," to the younger man, who is still twice her age. "Erm... we've got ta move him, then," is probably better. "Help me?" she grabs one of the hands of the passed out older gentleman and tries pulling. It is probably not very effective. "Mommy! Mommy!" The little girl cries as the mother soldiers on and tries to crawl to her left, Dante's right, with the little girl underneath her, the woman feeling out with her hands only to retract them when faced with boiling heat when it strays too far from Dante's Chi-aura. She coughs - she's struggling to hang onto consciousness. Finally, she makes a decision - she pushes the child crawling underneath her forward towards Dante, wheezing "Go, go!" as she starts to pass out, to the child's startled protests, though she toddles right up to Dante's legs. "Mom!" At the other side of the store, the thirty-something man gets his arms underneath the older man's, his expression desperate as he tries to help Rahne get him up and carry him away from the fire. "This is my father, oh god. Please, please help me save him," he keeps repeating, but the old man is limp and the fire is getting closer. They are making progress, but will it be enough? In the Salvation army, amidst shouts and screams of the few people still left there, the terrorist and Logan are duking it out. Punches land on him, but it's as if they barely register, snapping his neck back only long enough for him to surge forward. He lashes out with a good right hook, a forward pushing kick. "God damn it, you sonuvabitch! Just get off my back -" This entire time, the fight is taking them through the store towards the other side. It's clear the man is trying to get far enough away from the rabid Logan so that he can turn and run, but the Wolverine isn't making it easy. "Not a chance," Logan barks at the man, reaching for one of the arsonist's wrists with what would be a vice-like grip if he manages it. "You got me allll to yourself." He catches a glance behind him out the corner of his eye, to see a burning beam drop from the ceiling and fall partially into the Salvo store. A clothing rack nearby starts to burn. Logan twists under the terrorist's grip, side-slipping around the man and reaches forth with his other arm to try and put the criminal into a throat-lock. The scent of burning nylone and polywhatsit and wool has the feral mutant's nostrils all but screaming at the onslaught of scents. His own clothes are all but gone. "Get 'em OUT!" he roars - for the benefit of his friends as well as the civilians in both stores. He's still trying to get that lock on the bad-guy when more flames spread - trapping some elderly shoppers in one of the change cubicles. "Shit." Fasterfaster. Oh, but the older gentleman is so much bigger than Rahne and the smoke grows thicker, making her cough and wheeze. Panic starts to set in, the fight or flight instinct slavering at the gates of reason as she realizes that no, they are not moving fast enough, and no, their efforts right now are not enough to save this man if he is, indeed, still savable. But she could do more. She could. That faint keening noise of indecision escapes her again, but she clutches the tiny gold cross once more, pulling strength from it. "Yer goon ta hafta trust me," she shouts to the older gentleman's son, to be heard over the hungry fire. Through the smoke, he gets to watch as first she starts to sprout a reddish layer of what can only be fur along her skin, as her hands start to contort, with her fingers growing pointed claws. But that's not enough for what Rahne needs, and so she keeps going, growing in size as her form contorts, and her features elongate. As she becomes what most would consider a classic nightmare beast, half-wolf, half-...well, teenaged girl? Her coat splits down the back to allow for the growth, ruined. At least her dress stretches enough to keep her modest. Once she's metamorphed, she picks the incapacitated man up to heft over a shoulder and bounds for the nearest point of exit that involves the least amount of fire. She is going to be in so. Much. Trouble. "Come on, you can make it!" Dante shouts as best he can from underneath his mask...but as his concentration falters, so does the circular aura of Chi...the field of safety flickers and fades out of existence just as the child reaches him. In a last ditch effort, Dante quickly rips the Tac Vest from his body and unzips the hoodie, pulling it off his body and leaping into a roll. He reaches the woman, grunting in pain from an earlier injury to his ribs...dead weight, coupled with his injury and near-exhaustion from manipulating his Chi...no way he could pull her to safety now...He throws the clothes over the woman as a blanket, clad now only in the mask, his TacPants and a tank top, and leaps back to the child. "Come on! To the window!" he calls out to her, grabbing her in his arms as he rushes towards the exit...He leaps out the window, just as the flames swirl past, flashing infront of his face and catching the mask aflame. He twists his body with surprisingly acrobatic skill, landing hard on his back, but safely outside the building. He frantically yanks the mask off his face - his long brown hair falling to his now exposed face - and turns to the girl. "Stay here, right here. I'll be right back..." He turns to make his way back inside for the mother...When the beam falls...Dante sees only the silhouette of the woman...the shape of the beam dropping, directly above...the mother's form disappearing from sight...and a look of horror washing over the young man's boyish face as he drops helplessly to his knees... The man who is now pinned by the throat by Logan's iron grip clenches his teeth, his hands gripping Logan by the throat ineffectually, trying to pull it off of him. It was sort of a surreal scene, considering both men were almost completely naked by this point, with just a few scraps hanging off of either of them (hopefully in the most useful places). He looked up and over towards the elderly folk in danger of burning. He desperately seethes at Logan. "If you care about these bastards so damned much, then you'd better pull their hides out of the frying pan!" He spits vitriolically, trying to writhe away, kicking like he was throwing a tantrum. You know those moments when you just want to rip someone's throat out? With your bare teeth? Logan does. With the arsonist securely held in his lock, the pair of them must indeed look like two Greek wrestlers from the ancient Olympic games... Someone in the group of shoppers fleeing the Salvo Store is taking pictures too. Great. But that is not the source of Logan's distress at this point, or his rage. It doesn't register at all. At the terrorist's taunting, the Wolverine's grip tightens... And tightens... And tightens... until he roars in the man's ear, flinging him away and then bounds across the store to the elderly couple trapped by a burning beam. Logan tears the burning curtains down with his bare hands and then heaves the beam away, ignoring the wounds to his hands. Muscles strain. Flames burn. Civilians scream... and then run. The sweltering heat from the flames not even a yard away, The snowboarders mask - and with it, the man's anonimity- now burning to a crisp at his feet, the smell of soot and burned scorched clothing staining his body, the searing pain of the re-opened wound on his ribs...none of it mattered. None of it registered in Dante's mind. A few seconds passed...or a few hours...Dante couldn't tell. He didn't care...it seemed another force /made/ him turn around, made him shuffle slowly towards the little girl, forced his body down to a bended knee in front of her...and amidst the confusion, the pain, the sadness, he heard his own voice call out softly, "What is your name, little girl?" When she responded "Jillian..." ever so softly, Dante nodded, raised his arms slowly, and embraced her, as a single, lonely tear rolled down the young man's face. Sometimes, absolute absurdity can be downright frightening under the right circumstances. For instance, what most would percieve as a werewolf in a lovely, if smoke-stained and somewhat torn up, church dress bursting out of a deli that is absolutely engulfed in spreading flames with an incapacitated man slung over a shoulder, where technically is about as absurd as you can get, probably comes across as oh holy God terrifying. Truth be told, Rahne is pretty terrified herself as she crashes out to the sidewalk. Terrified for the man, terrified for his son, terrified of the fire, and terrified of the daylight and whatever police or other do-gooders that might be outside and could interpret things the wrong way. Because she is a monster. There's no way around that. But, she sets the man down as gently as she can on the concrete, not knowing what else to do with him by this point. His son, at least, stumbles out after her as if in some surreal dream, mostly unharmed. "Shithead." Mr. Arsonist pulls himself to his feet after he's tossed away , brushing off soot and dust on his shoulders. He walks towards one of the coat racks and rips off a large tweed jacket, throwing his arms into it, then pulls off a slightly-too-tight pair of jeans from the next rack, callously removing what's left of his OLD jeans just long enough to step into the new pants. He's /changing/ while Dante, Rahne and Logan struggle and strain and fight to save these innocent people from their untimely demises at his hands. Once he has his clothes on, as good as they're going to get on, he stalks out of the back door, glowering as he gets out into the alley around back, out of sight. Somehow, he got away. Amid all of this, he got away. As soon as the elderly man and woman in the two changing stalls are free, and the burning beam is heaved away from anything else flammable, Logan turns about - stark naked now, but for what remains of his boots - and glares across the store at the group of people waiting and watching outside. "What the fuck're ya doin'?!" he growls at them, arms splayed wide in a mixture of anger and incredulity. "Call the COPS! Jeez--" he stops himself mid-sentence and turns around. With a grunt, he ducks his head through the hole in the wall, only to pull it back really fast. There's no going back into that building. He can't hear anyone else inside now, anyway. Glowering and muttering to himself, the naked hero stalks out of the Salvation Army through the front door - its little bell ringing gaily to announce his exit - and walks across to where his friends have gathered outside. "It's over," is all he says, his tone flat and mad. "Someone's gonna pay for this..."